The Washington Monument by Night
by Covalent Bond
Summary: "Nothing happens unless first a dream." Where does that iconic line come from and what does it mean? Here's a semi-poetic little ramble setting it fully in context.
1. The End in the Beginning

**Author's Note:** I've been sitting on this for a long time (because it's weird and poetical) but my document tray is getting full. Not only that, this hiatus is endless. Maybe this will help a little. :D

* * *

~Q~

**The Washington Monument by Night**

**Part One: The End in the Beginning  
**

~Q~

* * *

Things were different now.

Patters and crackles fell all around her, the restless chatter of a sky relieved to share its misery.

Raindrops sparkled on the lawns, water glistened on the pavement, lights glowed like burrs in the mist and rain, which had kindly refrained from being cold on this wet, moonless May night. A bracing breeze blew her dampened hair back from her face as the solitary woman faced the monument that expressed everything she felt, yet could not say.

_The stone goes straight.  
A lean swimmer dives into night sky,  
Into half-moon mist._

That night, it was cool and dry; this night it rained and the drops hid tears streaking down her cheeks as she stood alone and read the words again and again.

_Nothing happens unless first a dream._

The words separated themselves, forming and reforming their history in the monuments that bore witness to the past.

First a dream.

Nothing happens.

Everything happens eventually. (He'd said that.)

But first a dream. (She'd begun dreaming after he assured her that everything happens … eventually.)

"You think two people belong together, but nothing happens." (She wrote that while he was dreaming, but she lived it every day.)

Everything happens eventually, but first a dream.

He had a dream, then he woke and...

_*Nothing*_

Just like the poem...

_….._

_*Nothing*_

Closing her eyes, she shuddered when the wind turned sharp and shook a sob out of her.

Because things were different now.

A flicker of firecracker up in the clouds, the mumble of thunder down here below.

Her bags were packed. Her apartment was closed up and her flight was scheduled to leave in thirteen hours. His bags were packed, his apartment was already closed up and she thought he might already be settled in at Fort Bragg, from whence he would soon be departing for a destination unknown (to her) in war-fractured Afghanistan.

Everything happens but somehow she never expected this to be one of the things that would happen to them. That he would forget. That she would say no. That the dream they'd shared would fade away with nothing but a low, limestone wall to commemorate it.

They flanked it that night, their two long shadows like coal black trees standing on either side of the dream. His and hers remembered, but the dream that was theirs … forgotten.

_Two trees are coal black.  
This is a great white ghost between._

Now there is nothing but a tall, white pillar to look at behind the wall where he finally spoke.

_It is cool to look at,  
Strong men, strong women, come here._

They came here together that night. They left together too, but separated by the great white ghost of a forgotten dream.

_. . . and stone shoots into stars here_ (that night)_  
. . . into half-moon mist tonight._ (this night)

He was strong, she decided. He would move on as he'd promised, because he kept his promises and because:

_Women said: He is lonely_

Women would notice him.

_. . . fighting . . . fighting . . . eight years . . ._

Voices carried to her over the breeze, bringing company but not companionship as late-night tourists stumbled into her moment of silence. They chattered and they wondered who Carl Sandburg was; and why that quote and why it was here in this garden of monuments.

Softly, she recited the poem from memory, recalling the story of the iron man who dreamed and fought and a republic was born of the dreams of men. Everything happens eventually. Men such as these are forgotten without the monuments to remind us.

_It takes a long time to forget an iron man._

The monument engraved in her heart ensured she would never forget.

~Q~

* * *

**Author's Note:** There's two parts, I'm posting the second part right after this.


	2. The Beginning in the End

**Author's Note:** With no further ado, here's Part Two. :D

* * *

~Q~

**The Washington Monument by Night**

**Part Two: The Beginning in the End  
**

~Q~

* * *

Turning away from the slender pillar, away from the voices, she stopped to look the other way.

_He buttoned his overcoat and stood alone._

And so did she.

From his throne at the top Lincoln looked down at her; an accusation, almost. Her hair wet, her summer raincoat dripping and her socks squishing soggy inside her shoes.

He seemed to say, "What are you doing here?"

But the words, the voice were real. _His_ voice.

Startled, she turned to see him emerging from the shadowed mist, a possible figment of wishful thinking except that he was just as wet as she was. And she wouldn't have wished for that.

They came together at opposing ends of the low, limestone wall.

"I came to remember."

The hush of the rain pushed down on them, pushing back words, hiding tears. She could wipe them away and he would think it an extraordinary if futile gesture. Or she could let them run and hide beneath her jaw.

When he looked at her, however, she saw the red sacrifice written in his eyes.

_Soldiers tied rags on their feet.  
Red footprints wrote on the snow . . ._

She looked away and the wind blew chill over them, made her shiver and then shudder with aching cold.

A brave step closer, (he couldn't help himself). "How long have you been out here?"

"I don't know."

Eternity.

"Too long," he said.

And she wondered if, maybe, he meant what they were about to do. It would be too long, too far apart.

"Won't you be in trouble?" She worried. He was supposed to be on base, hundreds of miles away. She stepped closer, too, (unable to help herself).

"Tomorrow. I have to be there tomorrow morning at oh-six-hundred."

Nodding, she looked again at the words. _Nothing happens unless first a dream._

"Booth?"

"Bones."

A step closer, his body standing in front of _dream_.

She stepped closer, her body blocking _nothing_. "Why are we doing this?"

Rain chattered and splattered over the glistening limestone, each droplet crystalline and then vanishing in an instant.

"We wanted something to change. We wanted something different."

_This is a great white ghost between._

This is not the different she imagined: it's worse. "I don't want you to be lonely. Over there. I don't want you to forget me."

He would, if she went. He would, if he went. No letters, no words, nothing but privation. Her heart wanted to block out _nothing._

"What are you saying?"

Tears, not raindrops. We wipe tears away, so she did. She brushed her wet hands across her wetter cheeks, felt the futility of it but then he came forward and she did too and they were standing together in front of _unless_.

She came to remember.

_Strong men, strong women, come here._

"I'm strong enough," she realized. She came here to remember an iron man, but had forgotten about the iron woman. "I want to try."

_…A dream._

His lips were warm and slick against hers, he tasted of rain and reassurance.

"Bones, I could never forget you."

_It takes a long time to forget an iron woman._

~Q~

* * *

***Author Flashes an official Poetic License:** I exercised 'poetic license' to place the quote on the Mall, because it comes from a poem marking the monumental risk of gambling it all on a dream. Whether it was Hart Hanson or David Boreanaz who selected that quote from the poem (and then the Washington Monument to punctuate that final scene in Parts in the Sum of the Whole), it was a stroke of pure, poetic _genius_ that deserves to be recognized.

**PS:** Though they're not in order, I've woven 21/25 lines of the original poem into this story.

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
